the other way round
by Maia May
Summary: Usually, it goes like this: boy meets girl, they fall in love and everybody is happy. But some stories are different and start with an ending. Oliver/Katie/Adrian


**Disclaimer:** The Harry Potter Universe belongs to J. K. Rowling and not to me, sadly enough. I do not earn any money with this story; I simply ask for a few comments. That would be fantastic.

**Summary:** Usually, it goes like this: boy meets girl, they fall in love and everybody is happy. But some stories are different and start with an ending.

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the other way round**

When he kisses you for the first time, you are twenty and happy to be still alive and you are actually with someone else. You try to push him away but his kiss is soft and intense and tender and passionate, all at the same time, and his hands are strong around your waist and you simply cannot make yourself pull away because it feels good and real and _right_.

You have no idea how it happened in the first place. You never used to talk, back then, when you were still children, running around with brooms in your hands, fighting with each other up in the air and shouting names in the hallways. You remember that you never liked him – or, at least, you like to remember that, although you are not too sure about it – and you try to forget that there was always a certain ... _fascination_ that hung around him like a cloud and that was sometimes only visible to you.

You shouldn't be doing this, you think, you should be walking away from him, _now_, this very instant, you should be going home to your boyfriend, you shouldn't have come in the first place.

Stop, you breathe, stop, please, and he stops and simply looks at you. I can't do this, you tell him, We can't, and he smiles and nods and says, Alright, you're right, we're crazy, let's stop this, right now, and he leans forward and kisses you again, in dark corners where no one can see you.

.-.

It goes on for three weeks and Oliver does not even have the slightest suspicions. You tell him that uni is taking away all your time and he is so _understanding _it almost makes you sick because you're lying into his face and all he does is smile since he would never assume you could cheat on him like that.

You're a terrible, terrible person and you do not deserve to be loved by someone as great and gentle and friendly and _perfect _as Oliver.

He makes you breakfast in the mornings before he leaves for early Quidditch training and he takes you out for supper when you're both too lazy to cook and he smiles at you proudly when another annoying witch with a magical camera appears to take pictures of the two of you for some silly article in the _Daily Prophet_. You remember the way his voice sounded when he told everyone, Yes, this is my girlfriend, this is Katie Bell, we have been dating for a year now and have known each other since Hogwarts, and how furious he was when you received those long, hateful letters from Wood-maniac female Quidditch fans who warned you better not to make their hero unhappy.

(Maybe you should be more afraid of _them _if all this is ever coming out into the public.)

.-.

You haven't told anyone. It is your secret, yours and _his_, and you can only hope that he keeps his mouth shut. It almost drives you crazy that you cannot talk to someone about all this stupid, secret, exciting, _wrong _affair, or whatever you may call it, whatever it may be.

You have made up your mind, though, and you tell him, firmly, I am ending this, do you hear me? and he smiles and says, No need to shout, I have heard you perfectly well, don't you worry, Kitty, and something in his voice, something in his predatory grin makes you shiver and worry.

You hold your head up high and force a content smile upon your lips. Good, you answer, I'm glad that's all discussed and resolved now. We can simply go back to being student and tutor again, can we not? You look at him almost pleadingly and he does you the favour and says, Sure we can, don't be silly, and the two of you leave your dark corner and enter the room full of other students.

You trust him, you really do, you cannot start and establish a relationship full of kisses and touches and long talks during stolen hours if you don't trust the other person. The only problem is: you do not trust yourself when it comes to him. Maybe he'll be fair and won't try to talk you into coming back to whatever it was that you had. But maybe he'll be the Slytherin he is and smile at you and lure you with promising gazes and you're not sure you could resist him once again.

It isn't that you like him _more _than Oliver or _better. _It is just – different.

(But it has stopped now and you're glad. You belong to Oliver. You belong into this relationship and you have worked for it so hard and longed for it for eternity, after years of schoolgirl affection. You cannot throw it away for nothing.)

.-.

It has been another three weeks. Three weeks without secret kisses, shared in dark, hidden corners between two classes, without these long and somehow strange talks, without that grin of his that makes your knees shake just because you don't know what to expect.

(Three weeks with you watching him flirt with other girls and really, you have no right, no right whatsoever, to feel angry and sad about this. You have your boyfriend. You did not want him. So let him go play with others, you think and still regard yourself superior to these girls since they cannot be more than substitution for you.)

Three weeks without you lying to Oliver (about which you are glad but maybe that's the only positive aspect) and betraying your relationship.

Oliver is happy, now more than ever, since you are at home more often and you bake pancakes for breakfast at the weekends and if he is surprised how you managed to reduce your uni workload, then he definitely doesn't show it. He sends you smiles and blows you kisses and it's all saccharine and cloud nine and walking on air and all that other terribly romantic stuff but it doesn't make you feel complete.

When you are lying in bed, you keep your eyes closed and concentrate on Oliver's fingers which trace your spine until you're all goosebumps and curled up against him and giggling because you're so ticklish. He knows and he presses his smile against the soft skin of your neck and whispers his I love you's.

You relax, automatically. You are used to Oliver's touch, to his kisses, to his strong arms, trained by endless Quidditch sessions, to his chest which is the perfect place for your head to rest upon. You wrap your arms around his body and feel his warmth. He says, I'm happy, and you crane your neck and kiss him and answer, I'm glad you are, and forget to ask yourself the most important question: whether you are.

.-.

It happens fast and unexpected. A few glances during class, a smile, a nod and then back into dark shadows in hidden corners. It feels painfully real and strong, it's tearing at clothes and ripping off buttons and afterwards, you'll be ashamed of it, you have never acted like this before, but it doesn't matter while it's actually happening.

You don't know why you do it. This is no way of ending something, you think before he puts his lips on yours and makes you forget everything. It's desire and lust and passion and desperation, it's a wild, confusing mixture and it carries you away.

Afterwards, you fix your clothes and try to flatten your hair. Your lips feel swollen and you feel like crying because this is not how you had imagined it. This is not what you wanted, or at least not exactly. You wanted desire and lust and passion and desperation (yes, even desperation because you have never felt desperate with Oliver; that is, if you don't count the innumerous mental breakdowns you had at Hogwarts due to his Quidditch craziness) so you got that. You didn't want it to happen in a deserted hallway, though.

He says, I'm sorry, and you are suprised. I'm sorry, he repeats, I should have accepted that you wanted it to be over, it's just – it's just that I can't.

You lean your head on his shoulder and feel a thousand years old. I know, you whisper and close your eyes, tired, I know what you mean, I feel the same.

You want to walk away, again, you want to return into your happy, normal life with the boyfriend who loves you. Instead, you remain where you are and miss a lecture.

.-.

It's a Wednesday and Oliver comes home late from Quidditch training when you tell him that you're moving out. It's worse than you thought it would be. He simply stands there, bag in his hands, and stares at you, silently, searching for words when his eyes are actually telling you all there is to know, all the things unspoken. He doesn't shout at you and he doesn't make any accusations. Somehow, this is not a relief.

He clears his throat and asks, Why. You shrug your shoulders and wish he hadn't asked. Why, he repeats and he sounds sad and disappointed, Don't you think I deserve an answer to that question, Katie? Of course you think he does, he's _Oliver_, he deserves everything you have to offer and more and better. You are just afraid that your answer will make him even sadder and you feel already horrible enough.

You hold your head up high and remember that you are a Gryffindor. You are brave. You can do this.

(You hate to hurt people you love. And yes, you love Oliver. In your very own way, you do.)

I'm sorry, you start and your voice trembles, I am really truly sorry, Oliver, I never meant it to happen. He looks at you, his eyes are big and brown and you want to hug him but you fear that you have lost every right to do that. You never meant _what _to happen, he enquires, and you sigh and give in. I never meant to fall in love with someone else than you, you whisper, and his fingers around the strap of his bag turn white due to his hard grip.

Oliver closes his eyes. Who is it, he wants to know and you have no idea, why, but you tell him anyway. Maybe you feel he's got a right to know.

Adrian Pucey.

.-.

You get stranded on Alicia's red sofa. It's not the worst place to be, you think, it's actually quite cosy and it almost feels like home with all those pictures of you and Alicia and Lina und Lee and the Twins (it tears a hole into your stomach, looking at the two of them and thinking that only one is left) and yes, the odd one of Oliver in his Quidditch robes, yelling at his team. It's normal and familiar and part of your life; has been, actually, even before you started being in a relationship with Oliver; and hopefully will still be, now that you have ended it.

Alicia doesn't ask any questions and you're grateful for it. She brews you tea and buys you biscuits, with chocolate, and never mentions Oliver.

You go to uni and avoid being alone with Adrian. You don't know why, you suppose it's your bad conscience and to be honest, you're suprised that so far none of your crazy, wonderful friends has showed up in order to hex Adrian or yell at him or beat him up. You wonder whether Oliver has said anything to anyone at all.

(Maybe he thinks you'll come back anyway. Maybe he thinks Adrian won't make you happy. He's still a Slytherin, isn't he? You tell that to yourself, sometimes.)

There hasn't been anything in the newspapers. You're happy about that. Oliver shouldn't have to deal with the press, with all these vultures that feed on his sorrow. And yes, thank you very much, you feel no desire to be called names in public just because -

(Just because you happened to fall in love with another guy.)

(There is no just because. This is Oliver Wood, after all. How can you even _look _at other guys?)

.-.

Is it true?

His voice is like a rope, being thrown around your neck, pulling you back, pulling you towards him.

Is it true, he repeats as you're standing next to him in the dim half-light of a street lamp. You tilt your head back and look up to him, right into his face. You see eyes, blue like the sky in May, dark brows and thin, pale lips, lips you long to touch and kiss, to trace with the tip of your tongue.

What do you mean, you ask and let him put his hand upon your waist. There is his dangerous grin again and just for a split second you feel like stepping into a trap that he has set up for you a long time ago. Then he kisses your fear away and breathes Is it true that you left Oliver? into the corners of your mouth. You rise up on your tiptoes and twine your arm round his neck. You don't care that you could be seen by passersby.

Yes, you answer after Adrian has stopped kissing you, Yes, it's true, I've moved out.

So, Adrian says and his eyes are suddenly deep, dark lakes, Does this mean you expect me to start a relationship with you, or what? You force your lips into a smile and somehow manage to look at him with this arrogant expression you sometimes have. Don't you worry, you talk down to him, I never expect anything from guys like you.

You take your arm from his shoulder and try to think of something offending to say.

He outdoes you. Which was to be exptected from him.

Poor Wood, he says, I bet you broke his heart. Well, he adds, It was nice playing with you, I guess I'll see you around at uni.

.-.

When you come back to Alicia's flat, the living-room is crowded with angry, shouting people. You can hear Angelina yell What the hell were you _thinking? _and Alicia's voice telling her to calm down while Lee comes rushing out to you, grabs your shoulders and asks whether you're alright, whether you want him to go and give that bastard a black eye (Lee's words, not yours) because he _clearly_ hexed you. You shake your head and say No, thanks, Lee.

He nods and whispers Don't worry, just let Angelina shout, you know that she needs that sometimes and she's always had a soft spot for Oliver. Besides, Lee lowers his voice, she's had a crappy week and desperately needs to take it out on someone, it's not personal.

Lee can make you laugh at the oddest of times.

Unfortunately, Angelina gets this wrong and throws an angry look at you. You think this is funny, she snaps, damn it, Katie, do you even know what you did, and now you're standing here, laughing, while poor Oliver is all heartbroken and confused, just like me, by the way, because who in his or her right mind would leave _Oliver Wood _for that -

Stop right there, you tell her because whatever Adrian has done to you, you will not have your _friends _call him ugly names because he still makes you shiver and long for more.

.-.

Alicia assured you that you could stay as long as you wished but you politely refused and went looking for a flat. The first night you sleep in your new apartment is the worst in a long time. You lie awake for hours without end and the thoughts in your mind wander around in circles, never reaching a conclusion. Maybe you shouldn't have left Oliver. Maybe you should have slapped Adrian in the face, hard and with good cause.

(This is crazy. Maybe you shouldn't have started dating, back then, when you were still believing in love and partnerships.)

You find yourself crying into your pillow and you hate the person Adrian has made out of you.

(The really, really _crazy _thing is: you would do it all over again. Everything. Maybe 'cause you're too stupid to learn from your mistakes. Maybe 'cause you're in fact a romantic at heart who thinks that you could be the one to change Adrian. Or maybe 'cause, deep down, you just don't believe that Adrian was telling you the truth.)

I hate you, you whisper, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, do you hear me, _I hate you_, but no one answers and at three o'clock in the morning, you finally fall asleep, exhausted and worn out.

.-.

You run into Oliver while shopping for food. He's standing next to bananas and apples and pears and looks kind of lost. You cannot help but smile and walk up to him. Hey, you say, Are you okay there or is this fruit troubling you? He turns his head and you can still read him well enough to see the surprise in his eyes and the sadness that hangs there like a veil.

Katie, he answers, Hello, I wasn't ... I wasn't expecting to see you here. He doesn't mean to but you feel the need to explain yourself. I was out of milk, you reply, I don't know whether you've heard but I found a flat, right around the corner, I'm sorry, I probably should have told you before, I mean, after all, you've been living here longer than I have, so this is your part of the city and I should have moved away, I mean, what was I thinking ...

You probably would have rambled on for ages if Oliver hadn't stopped you.

You have no idea how he does it but he puts a small, honest smile on his lips and it shines just for you. It's okay, he says, I knew, Alicia told me to make sure that I won't meet you accidentally when I – when I wasn't up for it.

You bite your lower lip and hardly dare to ask the question. Oliver, you whisper, Are you alright? I mean, after everything I've done to you – I'm so sorry – I never meant to – you know how much you mean to me, don't you?

You can feel his confusion and nevertheless, he is gentle and friendly enough to not take it out on you. I'm okay, he nods, Really, I'm okay, I have been better, but I manage.

You wonder how much you destroyed, how much you threw away (for nothing, as it appears).

He looks at you and there's a hint of curiosity in the corners of his eyes. It didn't work out with him, then? he finally asks, Did he not make you happy and laugh?

You think No, he makes me cry (and this means something, does it not? Oh, the power he holds over you.) but you cannot say that to Oliver, so you simply shake your head and answer No, it didn't work out.

Oliver nods again and tells you, I'm sorry, and the worst part is that you know he means it.

.-.

You have no idea how he found out where you live but you come home after a long day, a very long day, at uni, spent with trying to ignore him whenever you see him in the hallway, and now there he is, waiting next to the door of your flat.

Go, you demand, Go leave me alone, will you?

He watches you rummaging around in your bag, searching for your key, and doesn't move a single bit. You hate his presence, you hate how _aware_ you are that this is Adrian there, watching _you_, waiting for you, you hate how lost you are.

(There is passion and desire and _desperation_-)

Finally you find your key and push it into the hole, you unlock the door and try to get in as fast as possible. You are actually surprised when you close the door behind you, with Adrian still standing outside, having made no move to try and come into your flat. Maybe he'll go away, you think and start making some tea, just to keep your stupidly shaking hands busy.

Two hours later you are curious enough to open the door.

What, you say, irritated, What are you doing here, don't you have someone else to bother?

Can we talk? he replies, totally ignoring your question, and you don't know why but you open your door a bit further and let him walk in.

Could we not start at the end, he asks. I could make you unhappy now and then make it up to you and apologize and ask for forgiveness and you could cry and shout at me and then you could say, alright, let's try again and then – and then I could make you happy.

.-.

You say, You hurt me.

He presses his body against yours under white linen and caresses your cheek.

I know, he says.

You feel like you're challenging your luck, and still, there is no way you could possibly _not _ask him.

Why? You close your eyes and wait for his answer. Why did you do it?

And when he replies, you can hear his anger and his passion, his sadness and his cruel half-smile, his honesty and his desperation, the pure essence of _him_, and he's giving all that to you.

Because I was afraid.

.-.

**Fin**


End file.
